Purple coats, black lining.

Hey, was that Grimmace's mom?

Today I got onto the bus in my usual flair. I squeezed my a*s in the very first seat and sat trying to appear to not be staring at anything in particular that I have noticed is the "proper etiquette" for bus travel. A few stops go by and as my mind wanders to a place of loathing uncharged Ipods and chicken sandwiches, a lady walks onto the bus wearing head to toe purple. Not to be judgemental of other passengers attire, (it is inappropriate seeing that I am wearing my uniform and gigantic winter coat) my mind wandered, as it tends to do, creating a fantastic world that I can only imagine such a lady would live in. I would like to expand on this now. Oh, and to save any confusion, I am writing this in first person. The voice of the purple fur coat.

"It's Wednesday. Maybe today I will be spared. Perhaps she will go with the pleather sear sucker rain coat. I am not asking for much really, a days rest from the elements. I know that I am by far the warmest article of outer wear that Bernice owns, and my busiest time is upon us and I am just going to have to suck it up. But please God, Buddha, Muhammad, Baby Jesus, I just want one day off.

Ok, she is up now. I heard the ding of her alarm and I am getting that all to familiar waft of Ben Gay and vodka. Maybe I am being unappreciative. She is an old woman and she has shown me great care in our time together. The trips to the cleaners where Lucille would use just the right amount of product and love on my beautiful fur outer layer would most likely seem missed on me if I wished for her to find a replacement. Oh hell, I am just going to deal with the inevitable. Another day on the city streets with Bernice. No rest for the wicked they say.

The clouds are rather ominous today and I do believe that the weather report that I overheard this morning while Bernie went about her morning applying her rouge and her fake eye lashes called for freezing rain and wind. Looks like a busy day for me today. Thank goodness we aren't going far, just to the market, the podiatrist and the clinic to pick up the drugs. Or as Bernice likes to call them, her magic tic-tacs of power. God bless the poor bird. God Bless her.

It is full on raining and about as windy as a full on hurricane. The #8 bus is late. But as Bernice says, "If the bus is early the driver gets fined 100 dollars. They can be late all they want but if they are early, they miss their customers, and really, what else is the purpose of a bus driver if they do not pick up customers? So you can almost understand the desire to be late. I mean those bus driver's need to keep all their money!" With that last word, Bernice throws up her fists, and screams "Power to the PEOPLE!" Her spunk is only to be matched by her funk.

After a long day of odd stares and icy cold winds, Bernice and I arrive home and she rubs me all over, purring like a kitten at my matted dingy outside. Her arthritic hands remind me of the old days of a martini holding, cigarette smoking Bernice and all the gentlemen who jockeyed positions to help my beloved lady across the streets of this cold, lonesome city. Those days long gone and Bernice long asleep, I can hear the pleather seer sucker snicker at me for having to have been put through another wet, long day on the street and I am left with one thought of solace. At least I am natural fur, and not synthetic. That thought alone helps me prepare myself. For, if nothing else, I don't have to live with the shame of trying to be something I am not. Even if I am an dyed an unnatural shade of purple."

el fin